


Heaven's Touch

by theemersongiraffe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M, Slow Build, eventually everyone else?, everything is the same except Grantaire was sold to pay his father's debts, into guess which family?, they start off as kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theemersongiraffe/pseuds/theemersongiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The d’Enjolras family will have their debts paid, one way or another, Madame,” the one was saying. “This is the easier route.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven's Touch

**Author's Note:**

> So instead of writing chapter four of my other fic (which has a very uncomfortable scene in it), I'm going through all of my fics and seeing which scenes can be hashed together for a first chapter.

Grantaire remembered the year 1815 very well. It was not because of reasons that were celebrated in the streets, the overthrowing of Napoleon at last and a king for France once more. Perhaps at one point he would have taken to the streets with his mother in tow making sure that he didn’t get trampled. That was before his father died in the service of Napoleon, leaving his the family stranded with more debt than they could possibly handle. His mother had thrown her hip out earlier that year, and was heavy with child, so most jobs were not available to her. This was southern France, the Midi and there were not a lot of jobs for the poor. Grantaire had gone to look for a job to support his family, as young as he was. Of course age was a factor or so the places claimed and Grantaire had to trudge home in defeat. What was waiting for him was defeat of a different sort. His mother was angrily staring down two wealthy men, tears in her eyes as she clutched a piece of paper.

Grantaire looked at her with all the confusion that a child could possess. “Maman, why are you crying?”

Grantaire’s mother looked as if she wished he hadn’t come home, to his shock. The two men had certainly noticed him, smiling down upon him with something that was definitely not kindness.

“The d’Enjolras family will have their debts paid, one way or another, Madame,” the one was saying. “This is the easier route.”

“Slavery,” his mother hissed. “Has the family no compassion? I am recently a widow, as you are aware.”

“Your husband has owed for a long time. The family has been more than gracious, according to the paper you hold in your hand. Circumstances have changed, Madame.”

“Circumstances,” his mother huffed. “They are opportunists, and they send this pack of lawyers to do their dirty work.”

“My employers need not give their reasons,” the one lawyer said. “We have dragged this on long enough. Make your choice, Madame.”

Grantaire’s mother looked sadly at her son, for reasons that he did not understand. The men were talking strange, acting rude and making his mother cry. He wished he was older and could just make these bad men disappear. His mother motioned for him to come over to her. Without looking at the men he did so. His mother bent down, ruffling his hair. “Damien, you’re going to go away for a while, alright? It won’t be far from home, and I’ll come visit you as often as I can.”

Grantaire pouted. “But maman, why can’t you come with me?”

Grantaire’s mother looked at the two men. “My son has a point. Surely I could go with him.”

“The family has enough servants,” one lawyer said testily. “Just the boy. You are lucky that the family has a son the same age.”

Grantaire cocked his head to the side, confused once more. All he knew was that his mother was upset, and so he would be as well.

“You’re going to go with these men,” she continued. “Be brave my little Damien.”

Grantaire frowned. “I don’t want to go with these men. They’re mean.”

Grantaire’s mother chuckled at that. “I agree with you love, but you must anyways. They are taking you to a better place. There will be – kind people there.”

“I want to stay with you,” Grantaire said, clinging to his mother. “Please, don’t make me go.”

“Oh my poor dear.” Grantaire’s mother whispered into his ear. “It will be alright, I promise.”

Grantaire looked at her with pure belief in his eyes, the way that a child should no matter the situation. “Alright maman,” he said slowly, not liking this one bit but instinctively knowing that if he were to kick up a fuss that would only cause trouble for his mother.

With one last hug to his mother Grantaire turned and walked towards the two lawyers. They looked at him with pure indifference, not bothering to touch him. “Come.” If he had been any older, he would have recognized the tone as one would call a dog. Thankfully he was blissfully unaware.

Grantaire heard a noise from behind him and absolutely did not turn around. He knew that if he did, he would see his mother falling apart, and then he would not be able to leave at all. The men weren’t giving him an option to do anything but look straight ahead, and their pace increased.

* * *

 

The lawyers actually escorted him right to the front doors. He’d expected them to just drop him off, but apparently they cared about their investment – or rather, their employer’s. Grantaire stared wide-eyed at the house that would be serving as his home until his mother came to get him. It was more than huge – it was a palace (Grantaire had never actually seen a palace, but he’d assumed it would look like this). Now, Grantaire hadn’t been told what he was going to be doing here. The lawyers hadn’t spoken a word to him since he left his mother’s, and she didn’t have the time to explain anything before he was whisked away.

So he’s standing here, trying to be as patient as possible. Grantaire recalls something about a boy being here; perhaps he’ll make a friend.

The door slowly opens, and Grantaire sees two of the most intimidating people he has ever seen. They are dressed similarly in what is clearly the family’s colours – a light purple and grey. Which surprises Grantaire, because they are clearly servants and he expected the family.

“Is this the boy?” one of the servants asked, the displeasure clear in his voice.

“Yes,” the one lawyer said, pushing Grantaire forward. “You can take him from here.”

It isn’t a question, and Grantaire knows that he should walk forward but he freezes from the servants clearly studying him. Instinctively, he turns as if expecting to hide in his mother’s petticoats, but remembers that his mother isn’t there.

The servants frown, expecting him to do something other than stand there. The lawyers solve this problem for him by shoving him forwards. Grantaire stumbles and, being a child with no grace whatsoever, goes tumbling to the ground. Both the servants and the lawyers watch him and do nothing to help him. Grantaire wants to cry, except he knows that there will be no one to wipe his tears. He managed to avoid scraping his knees too badly and awkwardly shuffles towards the door. 

* * *

 

Nobody is impressed with him, so Grantaire doesn’t expect the son to be either. In fact, he doesn’t even look up when he enters the room with the parents – master and mistress, as it’s been explained.

“Julien, this is your new servant,” the master said, prodding Grantaire in the back, urging him forward. Grantaire stumbles a little, still not daring to look up.

So he isn’t able to get a reaction when the boy says, “alright. Thank you father.”

The parents leave, and Grantaire stays where he is. The boy – Julien – is he supposed to call him master as well? Grantaire is so confused right now... walks towards him.

“They never told me your name,” he says. “What do I call you?”

Grantaire isn’t sure what an appropriate response is. Is he supposed to actually give his name? “Uh… Damien Grantaire.” He pauses for a minute before adding, “Master.”

Julien walks even closer. Too close for Grantaire’s liking. He knows somehow, that he’s already made a mistake and he’s about to be beaten. By a boy that’s the same age, but is somehow better than him.  “Damien. You can call me Julien. Or Enjolras. My friends call me Enjolras.”

Grantaire dares to raise his head then, and what he sees shocks him. He is not going to be beaten, unless this boy – Enjolras – smiles before he beats, but his words say otherwise.

“Won’t I get in trouble… Enjolras? And you can call me Grantaire then.” It seemed very unusual to Grantaire, but what does he know about matters such as this? He is new to this fancy world, new to being a servant and if his -master- wants to use last names than Grantaire will oblige him.


End file.
